


Afternoon Butterbeer

by Alternatively



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternatively/pseuds/Alternatively
Summary: If that kiss had never happened... and the Weasley boys have a few butterbeers one Summer afternoon a year after the battle.





	Afternoon Butterbeer

**In the Garden…**

"Ron not with you?" She had a book in one hand, and was shading her eyes from the sun with the other.

The Weasley boys were lounging on a ramshackle collection of chairs in the garden, drinking chilled butterbeer and pretending they weren't 'bonding' out of concern for George. George was under no illusions on the subject, but he was having a good day, and feeling appreciative rather than smothered. They were laughing at his jokes only when they were actually funny now.

"Nah, he's still sulking." Charlie said, his blocky body slouched in the stripy deck chair pilfered from the broom shed.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly! All I said was-"

"-he's a bit of a directionless slob?" George offered, grinning at her.

"No! Of course not! All I said was-"

They were all wearing looks. Bill was pretending there was something interesting mid-air, and fidgeting with a handful of butterbeer caps; Charlie was- inscrutable, in an unnerving way that made her feel very… dishonest; Percy was scoffing; and George had quirked a sceptical eyebrow at her to go with the grin.

Self-doubt rose in a bubble and she frowned.

"Is that what he thought I meant?"

As one, they nodded- like orange daffodils in the breeze.

"Oh dear. I didn't mean that at all. It's just that-"

They were giving her looks again.

She sighed.

"I suppose I had better apologise for being tactless. Thanks, George." She turned to go, away from the somewhat disconcerting sight of the Weasley boys  _en masse_ , empty butterbeer bottles clustered in the bright grass at their bare feet. It made her feel somehow impolite, as though she should only ever see their feet when clad in socks.

"Better raid the kitchen first," said Bill, leaning back on two legs of his dining room chair as she passed, "Baked goods go a long way with Ron,"

She paused, much struck, and discovered she was embarrassed by this.

"Of course," she said, and it came out oddly, because she should have thought of it herself, but hadn't, "And you lot should go easy on that butterbeer. It's stronger than you think. I've seen people quite drunk on butterbeer,"

Bill grinned; George snorted butterbeer out his nose, mid-mouthful; and Percy seized his moment, as he had been doing more often of late, and said:

"We are a  _little_  bit bigger than house elves, Hermione, but you're right, we really should be counting drinks. How many have you had George, you're the shortest?"

"Oh, shut up Perce," George gave him a shove, and Percy went pink with the success of his feeble joke.

Hermione rolled her eyes and left.

Bill took another swig of butterbeer, and kept his eyes on Charlie.

Charlie kept his eyes on Hermione's retreating back, a sideways gaze, under ginger lashes. A faint hint of a smile.

Bill licked his lips. Should he? Oh, why not!

"So Charlie," he began, savouring this treat, "You're a fan of our Hermione are you?"

Charlie didn't even have the grace to blush. He just grinned, took a swig of butterbeer, and puffed his big shoulders out a bit.

"I fancy her, yeah," he said lightly, innocent and dangerous, "Don't you?"

Bill laughed, and waved the hand with the wedding ring at him.

"I'm all set, thanks,"

"Ha, you're not getting off that easy," said Charlie, "You can't tell me, if you were single, that you wouldn't fancy her,"

"I'm not single," said Bill, grinning, "And she's kind of spoken for,"

"Oh, Ron," Charlie dismissed his youngest brother with a wave of one calloused paw, "Look, I'll dance at their wedding and wish 'em both well,"

Percy and George were casting him quizzical looks.

"I'm not  _in love_  with her," he said, amused, "Not saying I couldn't be, maybe, theoretically. I'm just saying… hell of a woman. That's all,"

They paused for a moment, each one of them considering Hermione.

"You're not wrong," George concluded.

Charlie grinned in triumph.

"See, you fancy her,"

"Nah, not really… well… yeah, ok, maybe a little bit. Hard not to I suppose- I mean, we all know who was really responsible for saving the wizarding world. Harry and Ron are- well, you know,"

Percy was blinking owlishly at him, the sunlight doing funny things to his glasses.

"She's certainly an extremely accomplished witch," said Bill, "Fleur speaks very highly of her, and she generally doesn't get on well with women,"

"Veela," said Charlie, nodding, "They find it tricky. Dated a Veela once-"

"Yes, we've heard," said Bill and George together.

"Yes, well, Hermione's a whole different ball game," said Charlie, "Smart, sassy, bit of a temper, and she's been eating Ron's cooking all year, so- well- you know…"

The all paused for a moment to reflect on the curves they hadn't realised she should have always had- if it weren't for the constant stress, lack of food and extreme physical panic of the previous year… and all the ones preceding it.

Charlie let out a content sitting-in-the-sun-reflecting-on-cleavage-and-hips sigh.

"And you just  _know_  she's a fire cracker in the bedroom,"

Another pause for thought.

"I say this," said Bill, straightening up, "With all the confidence of a happily married man, with an active and utterly satisfying sex life- but what on earth is that supposed to mean? Crackers just… go bang, and that's it,"

"Not this one," said Charlie, a lazy grin on his face.

"I think what Charlie is  _trying_  to say," said George, adopting an air of great wisdom, "Is that she's a passionate woman…"

Charlie nodded.

"…and she'd go 'bang' several times,"

" _George!_ " Bill threw the handful of caps at him.

It was Percy's turn to mop butterbeer off his shirt front.

"You can't  _say_  things like that," he said, hating himself for how pompous it sounded, "It's not fair to speculate on what she might or mightn't be like- it's not relevant, and as far as we're concerned, she doesn't exist from the neck down."

They all snorted at him.

"Decapitation  _would_  solve the problem neatly," said George, "But I notice you haven't answered the question,"

"What question?"

George waggled his eyebrows.

"Do  _you_  fancy her?"

"What?"

Bill and Charlie grinned.

"Go on, Perce, we all do, 'fess up," said Charlie

"Oi," said Bill, indignantly

"Oh, yeah right," said George dismissively, "We're not talking  _serious-_ just a tiny, little, harmless, insignificant crush on your baby brother's best gal pal…"

Bill's ears were ever so slightly pink.

"That's right, Billy boy, in love with the lovely Fleur you may be, but don't pretend you don't find that bossy librarian thing just a tiny bit appealing,"

"I'll grant you a  _tiny_  bit appealing, and only because Fleur said the same thing,"

" _What?"_  they hollered in chorus.

Bill laughed.

"No, not like that. She said she didn't understand why Hermione doesn't have a boyfriend- she can't believe she's waiting around for Ron to get his act together,"

"She could be waiting a long time," said George.

"Maybe not," said Charlie, "I'm quite tempted to throw out a line,"

" _What?"_

"Oh, you can't do that to Ron," said Bill, reluctantly, "I agree, he ought to step up, but… you know, they've been through a lot,"

Charlie put his empty bottle on the grass.

"Way I see it is this. I could tell Ron to do something: he wouldn't. I could tell Hermione she's got options outside of Ron… and she might do something about him herself. Very proactive, our Hermione. On the flip side, she might fancy an older bloke who doesn't tower over her like a quidditch ring."

"Charlie-"

"She's a grown up,"

"Debatable," said Bill, frowning, "She's eighteen,"

"Hey, I'm not saying she'll say yes- just, can't hurt, that's all."

"It could," said Percy, feeling himself come over all pompous again (if only he knew how to stop it from happening! But Charlie couldn't be  _serious,_  surely!  _So_  inappropriate!) "Relationships are complicated…"

But Charlie was grinning again.

"Got an eye on her yourself, do ya Perce?"

Percy felt himself go red. He spluttered slightly. George, eyeing him with deep amusement, stepped in.

"Nah, she's not his type, is she Perce?"

Percy spluttered some more.

"I- what- well- no, not really,"

"Oh, ho!" Charlie slapped his knee, "So what  _is_  your 'type' then, eh?"

Percy was in the middle of another spluttering attack, when George stepped in again- to the rescue or to sink him further he couldn't tell.

"Oh, Percy likes 'em just a  _leetle_  bit slutty, don't you Perce,"

"Wha-I- erm- I don't-"

"Oh, yes you do," said George gleefully, "Perfume, plunging tops, stiletto heels, and innuendo.  _And,_  what's more, they like  _you,_ " on this triumphant note he finished and eyed his startled siblings with extreme pleasure.

"They do?" said Bill, astonished

"Oh, yes," said George, enjoying Percy's discomfort hugely, "He's so stuffy and proper, and they just want to rumple his hair and pop his buttons off and thoroughly corrupt him- and he's got no objection. Isn't that right, Perce?"

Percy groaned and covered his burning face with his hands.

"Argh, oh God, yes!"

Bill and Charlie let out appreciative chuckles.

"Janet had me cornered in the storage room on Thursday-"

Charlie whistled.

"-to escape I had knock over a stack of skiving snack boxes and threaten to tell George!"

Bill choked.

"And that  _worked?_ "

"Well," Percy shrugged, embarrassed and feeling not-very-pompous for once, "I didn't put it  _quite_  like that… I said if she didn't get back to the accounts  _immediately_  I'd have to speak to her boss…"

They all snorted and broke into guffaws full of surprised comprehension.

"…and she said she couldn't  _possibly,_  seeing as I'd made such a mess, and then she started picking up snack boxes…"

Peals of laughter filled the garden, and Molly, waking up from an accidental afternoon nap over her knitting, felt a sense of peace she hadn't known in years.

**In the hall…**

"How'd it go?" Charlie was leaning in the doorway of his room, filling all the space. She couldn't be sure, but she thought he'd been waiting for her to pass.

"What? Oh, Ron. Still sulking," she pulled a face, "He kept the biscuit tin, though, so that's a good sign,"

He nodded, hazel eyes light and amused, and looking at her in a disturbingly understanding way.

"He's a good kid,"

She frowned slightly, and instinctively pulled her book in closer to her chest, defensive. She saw him notice, and the look of amusement on his face grew.

"Got a soft spot for a good-looking red-head, hey? Well, don't forget, you've got options," He held her gaze for a moment, a look that seemed to burn into her mind… he broke the look with a shockingly obvious wink, and vanished, door closing in her face.

Hermione stood in the doorway blinking in shock.

_WHAT?_

**In the kitchen…**

The biscuit tin was up in Ron's room, so Hermione was eating crumpets. That is to say, she had a pile of them drenched in honey, sitting entirely untouched on a plate in front of her, beside a mug of cooling tea.

"We had the  _best_  day!" announced Ginny, flopping onto a chair and stealing a crumpet, "Have I mentioned my boyfriend loves quidditch  _almost_  as much as I do?" She fluttered her eyelids at Harry in a mockery of coyness, "He bought me a broom!"

Harry looked a bit embarrassed.

"They gave me  _a lot_  of money for getting rid of Voldemort," he said sheepishly, "I don't see why I shouldn't spend it on brooms,"

Ginny grinned at him, seized his chin, and kissed him on the side of his face.

"Ahem," said Harry, readjusting his glasses. He frowned suddenly. "Hermione, are you ok?"

Hermione transferred her glazed stare to him. She opened her mouth twice, in quick succession, as though the instruction to speak was shorting out in her brain.

"Hermione?"

Ginny was frowning now too. She swallowed the last bite of crumpet and waved a hand in front of Hermione's face. Hermione blinked.

"I'm not blind, Gin, just a bit…" and here she lost the power of speech again, opening and shutting her mouth with indecision.

"What happened?" Ginny couldn't keep the amusement from her voice; had Hermione ever been rendered speechless before?

"I-" she stopped, picked up her tea, and set it back down again.

"Right," said Ginny, "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and spit it out,"

Much to Harry's surprise, she did.

"I think- no- I know- I- hmph," she let out a breath, and slumped forward, leaning her elbows on the table, head in her hands, "Charlie hit on me," she said to the plate of cold crumpets.

Harry felt his eyebrows disappear in the direction of his hairline just as Ginny let out a disbelieving laugh.

"I know!" said Hermione, voice wracked anxiety, "It's insane! But I swear- he said- he said I had a thing for good-looking read-heads, but Ron wasn't the only option- and then he  _winked at me,_ "

"Oh my god," said Ginny, marvelling at this piece of delicious nonsense, " _Please_  tell me it's true,"

Hermione threw her hands up in helpless despair.

"I think I'm in shock!" she said, "I mean, he's… he's…"

"A dragon tamer?" offered Ginny in sultry tones.

Hermione cast Ginny a look.

"Maybe he was kidding?" suggested Harry, and instantly regretted it, as both Hermione and Ginny glared at him.

"I know I'm not  _your_  type, Harry," said Hermione dryly.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" demanded Ginny, adopting fake outrage.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well, I don't like  _broom shopping_  for starters,"

"Ok, fair point." She frowned, "You know, I can see you with Charlie…"

Hermione stared.

"Ahem," said Harry again, slightly wishing he wasn't always getting caught in these kind of conversations, "Does Ron know?"

"God no!" said Hermione, with feeling, "He's still sulking upstairs about what I said about seriously considering his career options."

"Oh," said Harry, "You know, you didn't phrase that at all well,"

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, that's what George said. Sort of. I've apologised. I expect when he's finished the biscuit tin, he'll come down looking all lofty and graciously forgive me." She rolled her eyes again.

"He won't if he knows you're flirting with Charlie," said Ginny grinning.

" _I'm not!_  I-" she took a breath and closed her eyes, "I don't know what to say to him,"

Harry frowned.

"Ron or Charlie?"

" _Either_  of them," said Hermione on a moan, "I don't do this, this isn't me, men aren't interested, ever, it's just not-"

"Krum was," said Harry, "And I think we've established Ron is, and apparently so is Charlie,"

"Oh God,"

"Pretty sure Neville fancied you for a while there. And I always did wonder about Draco," said Harry, eyes dancing, "Especially after you walloped him that time…"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

"No, no, he has a point," Ginny stole another crumpet, "Draco always had his knickers in a knot over you,"

" _Don't_  say that,"

"What? It's true,"

"Ginny," said Hermione, in failing accents, "I cannot  _deal_  with the notion of Malfoy in knickers,"

Harry snorted with laughter and nearly lost his glasses.

**At Shell Cottage…**

Bill yawned and pulled Fleur in close.

"I'm really glad you're not a fire cracker," he mumbled.

"What?"

"I've no idea," he said, smiling into her silky hair, "But whatever it is, I'm glad you aren't. I don't like the idea of exploding women,"

She propped her chin up on his chest and looked at him through the dark.

"No, zat sounds most unpleasant. Zat is the kind of woman who breaks furniture."

She sat up suddenly.

"Zey didn't!"

"Who?

"Ron and Hermione, who else? How many fire cracker women do you know?"

"Er… I've never really thought about it. And no, I don't think they've broken any furniture…"

"Oh," she sounded disappointed.

She snuggled back into his arms.

"So, how would you describe us?" she asked, her voice slipping back into sleepy, seductive tones.

Bill chuckled.

"I don't know,"

She nudged him insistently.

"Oh, all right. Um. A candle."

"Ah, a slow burn," she murmured approvingly, trailing one hand down his chest.

"And melty," he said, into her hair, and she gave a gurgle of outraged laughter and he knew they'd be up half the night.

**In George's bedroom…**

George had survived the day. He had made a few reasonably funny cracks; cheered up Percy; and laughed properly and at length. Things were improving. And if dinner had been anything to judge by, Charlie had been as good as his word.

_How long, Fred?_ He asked in the darkness,  _how long before one of them cracks and tells Ginny? And how long before Ginny cracks and tells Ron? And-_

His train of thought was interrupted by a scandalised yelp from a room somewhere above him, followed by a door banging on its hinges and a series of thumps he identified as Ron ricocheting down the hall and the stairs.

_About that long,_  he said to Fred, grinning in the dark,  _oh, Fred, this is truly excellent!_

George popped the light on and found his slippers.

**In the hallway…**

"No!" Harry said firmly, "You've done enough!" he had Ginny firmly round the waist, but she was still attempting to wade after Ron.

"But Harry-"

"No! Damn you're slippery,"

"Like an eel," she said, wriggling out of his grasp. He darted round in front of her and surprised himself by scooping her up over his shoulder.

She squeaked.

"Put me down!"

"You really couldn't sound more half-hearted about that," he said, grinning to himself and heading in the direction of his official bedroom at the Burrow, "And we both know this ends with Ron and Hermione yelling or snogging, neither of which they need an audience for,"

"I'd rather it ended with us snogging," she said, feigning petulance.

"Well," said Harry, plonking her down on his bed, and straightening his glasses, "That's a given,"

She cast him a very saucy look.

**In Charlie's room…**

Ron was standing  _on_  the bed. Feet on either side of him. Fuming. Charlie thought it was quite likely Ron would spontaneously combust. He stared up at the, from this angle, positively  _gigantic_  form of his youngest brother, and tried not to laugh.

"Can I help you?"

Ron made an inarticulate sound very nearly resembling a growl.

Charlie tried to stop his lips twitching.

"Well,  _you_  weren't asking her out- someone had to,"

Ron deflated slightly, and regained the power of speech.

"You weren't serious?"

_Uh oh. Here we go. Might pay to sit up, act 'big brother-ish' and flex a few muscles._

"Of course I was serious," he said, flexing as Ron instantly bristled up again, "She's brilliant and gorgeous,"

"That's not even half of it," Ron growled through clenched teeth.

"Well, don't tell  _me_  that," said Charlie, "Look, I'm not saying she'd  _prefer_  an unemployed bean pole to a charming dragon tamer, but if you don't throw your hat in the ring…" he shrugged. Ron looked crushed.

Charlie pulled a face.

"You- you- nincompoop!" he walloped Ron on the knee with his pillow, "Go talk to her you oversized nitwit!"

Ron made a weird gurgling sound.

"Go!" Charlie whacked him with the pillow again, and Ron staggered sideways off the bed, glared at him, and charged back out the door, knocking over a pile of equipment and nearly slamming George into the door frame on the way out.

George hastily tucked himself into the room and out of the way.

Charlie caught his eye, and suddenly knew with certainty that George was ok.

"You know," said George, adopting his thoughtful professor air, "I'm beginning to suspect you of deep play,"

Charlie grinned.

"Hey, she might've gone for it,"

George grinned.

"You coming to watch?"

"Eh?"

"Oh, come on, their rows are famous for being loud, public and pretty damn spectacular- plus Ron's bound to crash into something, since he's gone all mountain troll over this."

Charlie grinned.

"Plus- she  _is_  a fire cracker,"

George let out a bark of laughter, and Charlie scrambled out of bed after him, wondering whether George had bought or manufactured fluffy slippers shaped like miniature blast-ended skrewts.

**In the garden again…**

"Honestly Ron, what are you doing?"

"Getting out of earshot," said Ron crossly, dragging her by the elbow across the yard.

"Well, could you slow down? My legs are not as long as yours,"

"No."

She let out an indignant huff.

"Well, you can run, can't you?"

"I  _can,_  but in case you haven't noticed, I choose not to unless I'm being chased by Death Eaters. Ron  _what is going on?_ "

"Stupid brothers," he muttered. "Just- not here. Come  _on."_

"Oh, for- look, if this is about Charlie-"

Ron made an alarmingly animal sound in the back of his throat. Hermione found she was not displeased by this- though she did sniff disapprovingly.

" _Slow down!"_  she commanded.

"Argh. Fine." He let go of her elbow and dropped the pace a little.

"That's better," she said, though it wasn't much. At least he wasn't tearing along at breakneck speed any more- her socks would be ruined, but her feet would probably survive. They were heading towards the lake.

For a wild second she thought he was going to propose a night swim and couldn't decide whether pale green pijamas that would go semi-transparent in water were an advantage in this scenario or not.

Reason asserted itself, and Ron slowed down as they came to the little wooden jetty, sitting out over the silver basin of still water.

She stopped as they reached the end, but he kept walking, around in a funny little circle, like he had too much momentum and couldn't quite stop yet. He looked positively demented, one bare foot, one wet holey sock leaving large damp footprints on the wooden planking.

"Ron?"

"Look, I'm a bit of a directionless slob-"

"I didn't say-"

"No, but it's true," he said, stopping suddenly, and staring down at her anxiously, "Other than you, I really don't know  _what_ I want, and I  _have_  to work that out."

Was it suddenly very warm?

"So you  _have_  to wait. Please. And if you have to date someone in the meantime,  _please_ , not them!" he shuddered.

Hermione stared at him.

"I didn't think you  _knew_  that I- how I-"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Please. I'm slow; I'm not thick."

Hermione let out a surprised laugh.

"That doesn't make any sense,"

"Yes, it does," he said, "Use your head."

"Excuse me?"

He treated her to a reluctant lopsided grin, "Eight years doesn't strike you as slow?"

"Uh… well…"

"Look, it's just- it's a bit terrifying. We're what- eighteen? I'm not going to say it, because you know anyway- and it's always been us- and there's a certainty about it that's brilliant, but bloody scary… I just…"

He was giving her a look that was so intense that she felt with a jolt a myriad of possible futures with him that she'd always thought of as fantasies before. Suddenly, they were a breath away from bedrooms, one step away from toddlers with bushy ginger hair, two steps away from seeing lanky teenagers off to Hogwarts on the train, and not at all that far away from being old and grey with grandchildren and a lifetime of memories and arguments. She felt it with a jolt, and knew exactly what he meant when he said it was terrifying. And… brilliant.

It could all be real.

He frowned suddenly.

"Also, if possible, avoid quidditch players. And slimeballs. And- " he sighed, shoulders slumping, "Just not my brothers.  _Please."_

Hermione considered him for a minute. He hadn't been sulking. He'd been brooding. Huh.

"Ok," she said, finally, "Obviously, I'm not going to date any of your relatives,"

He let out a relieved breath.

"Thank you."

"And I'm not going to ask you about your career plans. You clearly need to sort that out yourself. And I need to work on being less nosy."

"Well,  _that's_ true,"

She frowned at him.

"But I'm not waiting around either. This starts now."

He stared at her in disbelief.

"Merlin's saggy- weren't you  _listening?_ "

" _Now_ , Ron," she said, accidentally stamping her foot impatiently. She had a moment of feeling like an absolute fool- but then he exhaled in defeat, said "Oh, fine then," and promptly lifted her off her feet and kissed her.

**In the living room…**

"Ooh, here they come!" said George delightedly, leaning over the back of an armchair to squint into the darkness, "I think they're holding hands! Oh- no… wait… they could be arguing…"

"There's something wrong with you two," Ron announced, wiping the grass off his feet on the mat by the back door, "How much did you hear?"

"Nothing," said Charlie, amused, "George hasn't perfected the long distance extendable ears- but if you want to hear the nocturnal activities of gnomes-"

" _Honestly_ ," Hermione cast them both a disapproving look.

"No really," said Charlie, eyes dancing, "The snoring is something else,"

He was rewarded with an eye roll.

The front door clunked shut.

Everyone froze.

"Who was that?"

Charlie and George frowned.

Hermione rolled her eyes again at their sudden insistence on silence. She trailed after them as they stalked down the hall and flung open the front door, wands out.

"Percy!"

He was half-way down the path, dressed very neatly and smelling faintly of cologne.

"Oh my!" said George, "Percy, ol' pal,  _what_  are you doing out of bed at  _this_ hour?"

"Midnight stroll?" he offered feebly.

They all snorted.

"It's only eleven," said Charlie, "And  _no-one_ puts on cologne for a  _midnight stroll."_

Percy twitched his cuffs, nervously.

"Yes, all right. I have- ahem- I have a date,"

Amusing though this clearly was, Hermione and Ron couldn't entirely understand why it rendered George and Charlie completely useless with laughter. They were snorting and gasping and leaning on each other, and Percy was grinning awkwardly, and cleaning his glasses.

**Upstairs…**

"Arthur? Arthur, dear?"

"Mmm, yes, my love?"

Molly yawned.

"I'm glad the boys are laughing again… but that's the second time they've woken me up today- if you don't count Ron stampeding up and down the stairs like a herd of hippogriffs,"

Arthur smiled sleepily.

"It's rather nice, isn't it?"

"Mmmm… yes… You think George is all right?"

Arthur chuckled.

"I think George might be to  _blame,_ "

This thought pleased Molly so much that when she fell asleep again, she dreamt only of George wreaking havoc and enjoying himself very much.


End file.
